from start to finish, my massive friends,
in quantities completely unheard of
by the third world and the natural book of history.
including, but not limited to, the diamond
in the smooth magic, the baby
in a pile of cubic zirconia
and the receipt to prove it all. crop
for the coil of the loyal galore. it cries! where
there is life there is habit forming.
maybe the sky used to open up and make
an exchange, nobody can know these things.
we didn't have cameras then.
one collateral left against the damage,
must make use of this collection,
portioned for the clumsy future. where there is
death, there is a recycling bin.
trash bag ready, to move on or at least be faced

our taste

do understandings remain mutual in places of rest
where secrets give way to the moments they blessed?
from root to root, swinging, to monitor growth --
where no one asks questions of unspoken oath.
they plan for inaction, ten feet below earth
where static drowns silence to aid in thought birth.
and there is no sleeping to dream of proportion,
and there is no excess to create distortion.
each breath and each day, each glass of milk spilled --
we see only products these factories build
and seeping from objects, too small for our taste --
exhaust is a memory, time is replaced.

Silo

i've kicked so many parties
just knowing who who I am might be.
things I learn
that I let go of maybe
are not in compliment with what I think I can.
I think I can and am being
owned, groaning against the
grainy suburban slate at sunset. and
if you are still under there, I can write for you.
we are all dissent, I stand
somewhere between protections.
I perceive my pain to be sordid. that of others,
becomes the marker. how did I
create this, slyly, structured by all my attemptings.
I do think I disagree with the ground,
neither can know how to own it, even what
we use is less ours afterward.
there must be a preliminary consideration:
our internalizations need to be known
for their suspension. Say it, situational existence.
any passing thing plodding comes
out of me-- I need to know there's
a reason you're here. I get
trapped up in the flexibility of some and
I can only fly with certain birds.
and in times of realizations like these, I search
through heroes and the helpless, seek out if I am
solely the course to seeing a conflict. of course not.
but there is a certain belief
about balances; they'll always
be, there's a mystery to them, like
need, like law like innocence

slipword

the thunder drum done
arms of the beat were sure
raised in place of
my friends like the cells of
the brightly colored weeds
of opportunism.

these people, around me just
a city in reversed view

it happened.
some days, some places may seem
the same so, so is
your fat drink and so
even the earth reacts.

it doesn't mean if it's wilting
it is wrong though i

slept next to the
plastic window, a gift, and the
water came in against me.
in it's best advice it would whisper,
not to let me look too far. these
are the things who know what
i need. i mean

sometimes, let it hold me.
everybody who made jokes
made good ones. but
there are somebodys still
asleep against me. so,
some of it can't escape
being beautiful. and i keep
questioning what is fate What

is outside
of circumstance?

Intention.

thee
thing. flush your drink
here or with a
people chaser. to me it
only raises the proof
of letting everything Else
choose, and i deny

you can
saturate my inbox
with the flaking off familiar,
your face says almost
everything about you any way.

honey honey honey i wish you'd
seehearsense this with me, happy
to seek your own on it but yes
i did fall off the stage so
i'm moving, with these
cut up feet breathing
the ground

they are young
they are blood monsters they are gentle
they are young, and they know it
they are drawing all the whiled peace out they
are bleeding, they are fucking, they are cumming.

they are making all the time stop still they are
knowing. they were once extinct
they are turning.
they foam at the mouth, spit up,
as clean as a baby's

they are climbing. they are on
parade they are leaving.
they are climbing
out of windows, they smell of the season,
windows of houses of
the textbook bricks they learned about,
they are climbing they
are still alive.

there is some vicious potential
in our laughter
it's all we do that we can.
let threat expose it, our throats be
sucking pulse, gnashing out a
fertility and every body
can; every time
our eyes do something new.
who taught us? do we turn
our heads up, open
as if sugar water rain
drips down in? use: with
no figured authority. forget
and in fact, we can't do
without revealing ourselves
to something wise.
we might be aliens, but we don't care
we're pregnant with something
beside reverence. we stepped up,
so every funny thing ever just
happened: and when
we laugh, we are our own kings

coming outs

we went wet
coming outs of inside itself
such a taste is
reserved for the celebratory..
..satisfied only with
the little dangersalt in it.
nothing is ever
separate for long, though
it is our play trying.
though it is a flurry full
of greasy glitter, shards of
mirror all mouth foggy, sharp.
what we say is- immediate and oh
nothing is not round about it-
rhythm i don't care this
is the way i'm baptised:
possessed, occupied
in a dance of derivatives